


This must be it (Welcome to the new order)

by helpiamabug



Category: Resident Evil 4 - Fandom
Genre: Crack, Fluff, Gen, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-10-13
Updated: 2010-10-13
Packaged: 2017-10-12 15:31:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/126398
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/helpiamabug/pseuds/helpiamabug
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some guys and some gals have some drinks at some bar.</p>
            </blockquote>





	This must be it (Welcome to the new order)

**Author's Note:**

> There is far too little adorable team!fic that isn't sad and depressing when it comes to RE. So here, have some. Flashfic quick and dirty w/o beta etc, and also, standard disclaimer applies - aka, not mine, no profit being made, plz to not sue!

'And then...' Leon pauses, licks the condensation from the side of his beer, and tries to gather his thoughts. 'And then she says, 'Didn't I tell you not to take the scenic route? Like my person enjoys being groped by weird Spanish zombie aliens! It's fuckin, like... like... fuck, man.' This philosophical treaty delivered, he sits down heavily on his bar stool and tries his best not to drool on Claire's arm.

He knew there was a reason he hated the Redfields, and he thinks it's probably the 8th shot of tequila Chris has just bought him. It's become a strangely comforting ritual, these post-disaster meet and greets with the three of them - sometimes four of them, if Jill can be dragged out, where they drink - heavily - and complain about why it always has to be zombies, and Hunnigan's stupid briefings, and find lame excuses to hug each other a lot and sit too close to each other. It's worth the morning after to have that simple time together, and Leon knows there'll probably be a day when one of them doesn't come back from a mission - but for now, he's just busy wishing his friends weren't a) raging boozehounds and b) he didn't have that last drink because he thinks he might lose it all over Chris's fancy black leather head-stomping boots.

Leon manages to wobble upright off and looks around the bar - the local, just down the street from the tiny little studio he leases near the Capital and where more often than not he comes home from work to find Claire passed out on his couch in his old Raccoon City Police Department sweats, or Chris drinking beer and doing pushups while he waits for Leon. They always come here, mostly because the owner is a friend of the Redfield's, which has come in handy many times - most notably the time that Chris broke a pool cue over the head of some poor tourist who walked in wearing all black and sunglasses and bodily threw him out the bay window. Sometimes he does worry that Albert Wesker has totally ruined Chris Redfield's entire brain. Jill and Chris are playing pool with a mark who'll soon be parted from pretty much everything in his wallet (Claire says the only reason her brother tolerates him occasionally making out with her is that Leon can beat him at pool. Leon likes to think he's just a stand up guy, but he knows she's probably right.) and Claire has passed out face down on the banquette by the jukebox.

A perfect reunion.

He can't quite see straight but he manages to navigate to the banquette and fling himself down directly on top of Claire - he's careful to protect his eyes and other sensitive areas as he flops down around her - he's learned the hard way that you never, ever, ever surprise a sleeping Redfield. Leon's still got the scar from the time she broke a plate over his head when he tickled her after she fell asleep at dinner. Yeah, Leon thinks, they manage to get politely escorted out of a lot of places. There's a good chance he's going to wake up with Sharpie all over his face, mostly because they have yet to convince Chris after too much whiskey that drawing a gigantic cock on his face isn't the height of comedic genius, but he can't really make himself care. He made it home, and Jill is back, and no matter how many crazy megalomaniacs dream up new and disturbing ways to zombify the populace, he's managed to find himself a family.

Claire is warm and burrowing her face into his neck as they curl up together under the table and wait for the bartender to notice and kick them out for the fourth weekend in a row, and he's already mentally preparing himself for the motherfucker of a hangover he knows is waiting for him tomorrow - but as he falls asleep with his hand (totally sneakily) on Claire's chest he knows he'll wake up tomorrow to Jill frying bacon and Chris whining like a little girl about how much his head hurts and after a post-hangover breakfast and strong coffee and the prerequisite jokes about how Umbrella should have just poured rum into the water supply instead of the t-Virus, the four of them will pile together in his bed like puppies and sleep through Sunday, all tangled together, the way they've always been.


End file.
